Once
by hikingurl
Summary: Every past used to be a future... once upon a time.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This was my entry for the Secrets and Lies Contest. It was my first contest and I enjoyed writing for it. A big "Thank You" to the wonderful ladies who worked so hard on the contest, your efforts were certainly appreciated. I decided I would keep my own little "secret" and not reveal who the other characters were. LOL. There are three more chapters and they will post in the next few days. Thank you to Ipsita for the wonderful banner and the lovely review. Bellebiter whipped it into shape, but all mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading. No copyright infringement is intended.

Once

Chapter 1

"Every past used to be a future… once upon a time."

A Fairy Tale Beginning

Once upon a time, a boy loved Bella Swan.

Fair of skin, with a nose and cheeks liberally sprinkled by freckles from days spent playing outdoors, he had a lopsided, goofy grin that showcased his missing two front teeth – and a riotous mop of curly hair so abundant with cowlicks that his mother despaired of ever taming its boyish exuberance. He had two parents who loved him, and two sets of grandparents who doted upon him. Although he could easily have been self-centered, spoiled and selfish, he wasn't.

He was a good little boy.

In kindergarten, he shared his toys willingly, and always waited patiently for his turn on the swings. He sat quietly in circle time, and listened while the teacher read to them; he helped pass out the paper and pencils when it was work time. He and Bella sat at the same table; and once, when she cried over her broken green crayon, he had given his to her because it was her favorite color, and because she was his friend.

Bella Swan was the little girl who lived down the street. The one his mother sometimes took care of when her father – a real policeman, who drove a car with flashing lights on the top, and who had a badge _and_ a gun – could not find another babysitter. She was the girl who did not have a mother, because hers had left and gone away.

His mother had explained all this to him when he couldn't understand why Bella lived only with her father. She had asked him to be nice to Bella, but she didn't have to ask that of him – because he was a good boy, and because she was his friend. And even though his mind was young and he did not understand all his feelings yet, his heart felt itself pull towards her.

It might take years for feelings to catch up with knowing; but one day, the good little boy would love Bella Swan.

—O—

He grew into a kind-hearted youngster.

In elementary school, he never picked on kids smaller than him, or pushed his way to the front of the cafeteria line. He completed all his homework, and never even thought about cheating on his tests.

His parents taught him to always be polite, so he said, "Ma'am" and "Sir" to the adults who spoke to him. One Saturday a month, he helped old Mrs. Cope with her grocery shopping, carrying her bags into her house and unpacking them into the cupboards and refrigerator for her. Another Saturday was spent at the city animal shelter, cleaning the enclosures and playing with the animals waiting for a new home.

Long summer days meant playing ball at the park, swimming at the pool, or picnicking at the beach. Evenings were spent playing hide-and-seek or tag, while parents sat on front porches – drinking beer and sodas, discussing politics and the latest town gossip.

Other times, his gang of friends would see how many fireflies they could capture in a quart jar. Then, after everyone had gone home for the night, he always let the insects go free; he could not bring himself to leave them to die in an airless prison.

He never threw rocks, like some of the other boys did, at the stray dogs that sometimes appeared on the street. But once, he _did_ sock Tyler Crowley in the nose – as hard as he could – when he found out he'd tied a firecracker to a kitten's tail.

Bella Swan was still his friend, one of many that he had; yet somehow she was always a bit more special than all the other girls, who were also his friends. And even though she was told over and over that she was welcome to come anytime, gradually Bella began spending less and less time at his house than she had in the past.

In the fifth grade, she announced that she was too old for a sitter – and began staying by herself, after school and during the summer, when her dad was at work. "Besides," she had explained, "I have housework, chores and cooking to keep me busy."

But he noticed that sometimes she looked very sad, and his heart would actually hurt for the lonely girl who lived down the street.

—O—

He matured into a thoughtful adolescent.

Puberty was unusually kind to him. He skipped the awkward phase of big feet, knobby knees, and sharp elbows – filling out, instead, at a steady pace to match his height. Perhaps it was the hours spent mowing yards, or doing odd jobs for anyone who would hire him; or perhaps it was the part-time job at the car wash, vacuuming and drying the cars that came through… smiling at all the elderly ladies who tipped him, and told him he had a cute smile; or maybe it was simply the sports he participated in during the school year.

Whatever the reason, he began to lose the round softness of his childhood and add the muscles of a teenage youth. He was spared the indignity of acne, but not that of braces; and it was those braces on his teeth that suddenly, ultimately led to a whole new focus in his life.

He was fourteen, and hanging out with his friends in Tyler's basement.

As the evening wore on, more and more of his classmates had shown up, until the gathering had turned into a real party. Tyler's parents sent down popcorn and sodas, chips and snacks. The music was loud, the lights were low, and everyone was dancing, laughing, jumping around, having a good time. He had just been twirling Lauren in a wild, exuberant spin when he happened to look up… and see Bella standing on the stairs, watching him.

Her long, dark hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, and little wisps of curls framed her face. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the room, and her lips were pink and shiny with gloss. The sundress she wore was new, and left most of her shoulders and arms bare. As his eyes traveled down, he could see shiny pink polish on her toenails in the sandals that she wore.

In that moment, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He forgot all about dancing with Lauren, as he slowly let go of her hands and made his way towards the girl who was smiling shyly at him.

By the time he reached her, she was standing on the bottom step of the basement stairs, which made her almost his same height.

Later, he would wonder what had come over him; but in that single, instantaneous, momentous, hold-your-breath standstill of time, all he could see were her soft, pink lips, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to touch them. His arm slid around her waist – and when he pulled her towards him, he tipped his head, and placed his lips on hers.

Surprised, she stiffened for a moment – then leaned in against him, and returned the kiss. It was over in seconds; but it was their first kiss, the first kiss for both of them. Bella drew back and smiled at him, and he knew he wanted to try that again.

She nervously stepped down off the stairs, and let him lead her down the hallway towards a dark corner, where there was a little more privacy. The second kiss was longer, although a bit awkward… as they both tilted their heads in the same direction, before bumping noses.

They drew apart, laughing, before trying it a third time.

This time, he pushed her gently against the wall behind her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, before pulling him closer. The feel of her body pressed against him was almost more than he could endure, and he gasped just as she pressed her lips against his open mouth.

Somehow, though, her lip caught against the metal on his teeth… and then tender flesh tore, exactly at the moment when they both drew back in surprise.

Her cry of pain – and the sudden appearance of blood on her lips, caused them both to stumble. Soon, they were a tangle of flailing adolescent limbs and pride-crushing awkwardness that quickly ended in a bone-jarring crash onto the concrete basement floor.

His cry for help brought their friends running to their aid. He was fine; but Bella Swan was not.

In quick order, an ambulance was called; Chief Swan was notified; and his parents arrived to take him home. But when _they_ came to take _her_ , he demanded to be allowed to ride in the ambulance – screaming and begging when anyone tried to make him release the delicate hand he was gripping.

Finally, her father put him in the front seat of his cruiser, and they led the way to the hospital – lights flashing, siren screaming.

He paced the waiting room, while Chief Swan sat silently in his plastic chair. Both of them waiting for the doctors and nurses to finally let them know that she had a severe concussion and a broken leg, but that she would be fine.

She spent over a week in the hospital recovering, and he spent every moment that he could beside her bed: holding her hand and talking about the future; telling her silly knock-knock jokes, just to make her smile; helping complete her homework.

He watched while she slept, and wondered what sad memories made her frown and whimper in her dreams. He studied her pale face and clear skin, the thick brown lashes framing the dark circles beneath her eyes, and – when he allowed himself – he glanced at the hint of feminine curves hidden beneath the hospital sheets. He remembered the feel of her soft lips on his, and he knew he wanted to be the only boy she ever kissed, just as she would be his only girl.

He watched, and he thought, and he finally let his mind accept what his heart had known for years: he loved Bella Swan.

And because he realized just how much the lonely little girl who lived down the street meant to him, he began to make plans. He might have been only fourteen, but he knew he was capable of thinking ahead; and with a resolve that made him take a deep breath and sit up a little straighter as he looked over her dozing form, he grew determined to start making plans for their future.

—O—

He became a very focused young man. The next four years passed almost exactly as he had planned.

Seeing Bella helpless on the floor in Tyler's basement – then watching the nurses and doctors care for her in the hospital, before eventually begging his mother to let Bella stay at their house when it became obvious that Charles Swan wasn't spending anytime at home while she recuperated – he determined that he _could_ … that he _should_ … become a doctor.

He wanted to be able to care for her and any future family _himself,_ if something should ever happen to them. Being a doctor also meant he would have a good career that paid well, and that he could provide for his wife and the children he already hoped for them to have.

His parents were happy with his decision.

They were a solid, middle-class family with a comfortable living; yet he knew trying to send him to medical school would be a huge financial burden.

So he worked. He took every odd job he could find: mowing lawns, cleaning pools, washing cars, walking dogs; even babysitting.

When he was finally old enough, he went to work at a real job in the supermarket – stocking shelves, bagging groceries, and taking a turn at the register. His parents and grandparents gave him money for Christmas and birthdays; every cent he made went into his college fund.

Each week when he deposited the money he earned, he smiled with pleasure and quiet satisfaction, as the balance grew and grew.

Working left little time for anything else besides school. He gave up the sports he loved, so he could focus on his studies. Learning had never been overly easy for him; but he made up for his shortcomings by sheer determination and hard work. He concentrated on his science and biology classes, and let Bella help him with their English and literature courses.

Bella thought his plans sounded wonderful. The lonely little girl had become a shy adolescent, who now allowed herself to welcome his attention.

She soon learned to love his parents, too. His mother had taken her under her wing, guiding her through puberty and becoming the loving mother Bella so desperately craved. His father filled the paternal role that was missing in her life, with a strong but caring presence that made her feel secure and accepted.

Any future that meant being part of a genuine, normal family seemed like a worthy goal to Bella. Perhaps this could be the opportunity to prove to her father that she wasn't the inconsistent, deceitful woman he claimed her mother had been. Perhaps this was her chance to fit in naturally somewhere, and she would belong – in her own way, as herself – for who she could be to them.

So, Bella Swan accepted her boy's plans, and soon worked as hard as he did.

She found a job at the library, shelving books after school and on Saturdays. On Sundays, she waited tables at the local diner. Nights were spent studying or babysitting; summers were more hours at the library, and more shifts at the diner… and babysitting, and housecleaning, and every odd job that someone would pay her to do. The money went into the bank and she, too, smiled as the balance grew.

After some discussion, he decided she should be a teacher.

There were all kinds of good reasons for this choice; one of which was that she could just stay put and enroll in the local college, where she'd be able to take her basic course requirements, many of them offered on-line, at a very reasonable tuition. Another was that she would be ready to get a full-time teaching job and support them both when it was time for him to start his internship and residency.

Their plans were good plans: safe, dependable, sensible, and exactly what he wanted.

The kissing continued. They were sixteen before he touched her breasts; seventeen before he let them use mouths, fingers, and hands to share pleasure; and eighteen before they gave their virginity to each other on Prom Night. And they were careful… very, very careful. She was on the pill, even while he always used a condom. Having children was something they both wanted, of course – but it wasn't in the plans for a long, long time.

—O—

The determined young man seamlessly turned into a dedicated college student.

There were no drunken frat parties for him; he studied, worked, and came home almost every weekend to see his girl.

There was no college experience for her; she took classes on-line or at night, worked full-time at the library, and waited tables on Sundays.

She spent Saturday nights in his arms – loving him desperately, frantically, madly; searching for something, anything, to stop the deep, creeping sense of inevitability and despair that was gradually spreading within her.

Because Bella Swan had a secret.

It rode into town one sleepy Sunday afternoon on a machine of black and chrome, of loud mufflers and noisy pipes. It strode into the diner in worn leather and heavy boots, inked arms and long, coal-black hair. She approached his table hesitantly, cautiously.

When he turned to look at her, she was caught in a web of defined muscles, scrolling tattoos, and bronzed skin. Scruff lightly outlined his sharp jaw, with long lashes framing his dark, piercing eyes. He had big hands, strong thighs, and a t-shirt stretched taut across a broad chest. He smelled of the open road, of the outdoors, of adventure… of room to breathe.

He seemed like some kind of freedom.

She stood staring, pencil poised to take his order, as gut-twisting desire suddenly bloomed within her. A longing for something – a something so visceral she could not name or comprehend it – clutched her very core.

Unable to speak or move, she felt her nipples harden and her heart race. She shifted uncomfortably, hoping he would not notice; but he did. Full lips quirked in a knowing smile… and then a soft chuckle, when she flushed bright red. His voice was deep, and seemed to almost rumble in his chest when he ordered his hamburger, coffee and pie. She fled into the kitchen, trembling and confused.

She tried to forget him; tried to forget his tall, muscular body, and the avenging angel face. But at night… in her lonely, single bed… in her childhood room, in her father's house… where at twenty years old she still lived, because it was part of the plan… Bella burned.

She tortured her needy flesh, first with her fingers, and then with a vibrator she'd kept hidden in her room that left her shuddering and screaming into her pillow… and wanting more. Always more.

She turned away when she saw him riding through town; didn't look at him when he came to the diner. But he was impossible to ignore.

When he began to show up at the library to use the internet computers, or read the magazines they subscribed to; when he started conversations about the books he loved, or whispered sordid details of all the things he wanted to do to her…

She knew it was only a matter of time before she surrendered completely.

So, one Sunday morning – when her tip came wrapped around a note, with a time and a place written on it – she nodded her head… and he left with a satisfied smile.

—O—

There were bruises on her arms, and scruff burns on her inner thighs. Her lips were red and swollen, and her legs trembled with exhaustion when she headed out a strange door, hours later. Her hands began shaking even before she left him, and she dropped her keys when she tried to start her car.

She promised herself she would not go back.

But her dreams were haunted, and her body addicted to the overwhelming pleasure. So – like a junkie needing a fix, or perhaps a prisoner looking for an escape – she went back three days later. And then, again… and again… and again.

He left town the same way he had arrived: on a machine of black and chrome, in a roar of loud pipes and echoing rumbles.

One glance and a smile, along with his name, was all she was given, nothing else; but even that was almost more than her guilty mind could handle.

Driven by her uneasy conscience – and the knowledge of what she now knew she was capable of doing – Bella went straight back to loving her college boy, straight back to her work and classes, straight back to the plans he had so carefully crafted. She chastised herself over and over for her weakness, and vowed that she would once again be worthy of the young man who had loved and cared for her all her life.

If she cried sometimes, late at night, she told herself it was because she had been wanton, unfaithful, and bad – just like her father said her mother had been – and not because she felt trapped, and isolated, and lonely.

—O—

Six weeks later, a positive pregnancy test changed everything.

For one brief moment, she considered ending it; but she couldn't do that to her young man or to his family she still loved. She refused to let herself consider that the baby might have a different father. That person was gone, forgotten; buried away in memories that were never to be remembered, for everyone's sake.

She cried in his arms when she told him, and apologized for ruining his plans; but he shushed her, wiping her tears away, and reassuring her that he wanted their baby, and that plans could always be modified and changed. He knew they had not been careful lately; he had stopped using condoms months ago, and he understood that the pill wasn't always effective.

It wasn't only her fault.

They got married immediately.

He wanted his child born with his name, and he wanted to be present for every moment of her pregnancy. They moved into a small one-bedroom apartment near the university he attended, and they tried to carry on with their lives and their plans.

Bella's pregnancy was difficult. She was sick, and lost weight; there was spotting, and swelling, and bed rest. She couldn't work or take classes. He tried to keep up with his studies, but worried about her constantly.

Their savings began to dwindle.

The delivery was even harder. After hours of labor, the doctor decided to perform an emergency caesarean when it became obvious that both Bella and the baby were at risk. The hospital stay was longer than normal, as complications seemed to multiply. Eventually, he quit going to classes so he could take care of them full-time when they were finally released.

With their savings almost gone, they made the decision to move back to their small hometown, and into a garage apartment at one of his grandparents' homes. He found a job as an EMT with the ambulance service, and stocked shelves at the market for extra cash. He spent the rest of his time caring for Bella and his son during their slow convalescence.

––O––

The dedicated college student matured into a supportive husband and father.

They named their son Riley, and he was his father's pride and joy. He was doted upon by his parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. Even the quiet, reserved Charles Swan could sometimes be caught crawling around on the floor, playing with his grandson.

Riley overcame his rough start, growing into a robust, energetic little boy.

He loved playing outdoors, and his skin would turn a golden brown after only a few hours in the sun. As he grew older, his eyes lost their newborn-blue, darkening into a chocolate brown; and his hair, although lightened somewhat by the sun, was almost black.

Bella watched and worried as her son matured, hoping his loving family would turn a blind eye to his physical differences.

There were whispers, of course, and strange looks when his fair-skinned and light-haired father took Riley to his elementary soccer games. She gave excuses, deflected questions, and made up stories about an Italian ancestor; but it was not enough.

One day, while they were at Riley's soccer practice, she caught her father studying her son closely. He suddenly turned towards her – with a look of such disgust on his face that she realized he had figured out her secret.

Charles Swan gradually quit visiting after that.

Riley was ten when he had a serious bicycle accident while trying to pop a wheelie on a steep downhill dirt trail, and had to be hospitalized. His father was on duty when the ambulance arrived at the scene. There was a great deal of bleeding, emergency surgery to repair internal damages, and a broken arm that needed metal pins and a rod to rebuild it.

His parents spent hours in the waiting room, pacing the floor and worrying about their son; and then hours later in the ICU, watching him slowly recover.

The accident brought back painful memories of Bella's hospitalization.

One night, as he sat beside his sleeping son, he couldn't help remembering all the hopeful plans he'd made years ago, while sitting beside her hospital bed.

He had wanted to be a doctor; a well-respected member of the community, with an impressive house and a beautiful, loving wife who greeted him when he came home from work. He'd wanted the 2.5 fair-haired, blue-eyed children who looked like him, made good grades, and were popular in school. He'd envisioned the big back yard with the swimming pool, the family dog, and the weekend barbecues with family, friends and neighbors who were suitably impressed by his success.

So many plans, so many wants; all of them given up… or changed… because of an unplanned pregnancy.

Mortified by the sudden flare of resentment he felt towards his wife and the injured boy lying in the bed next to him, he reached for Riley's medical charts, and began flipping through the pages of x-ray reports, blood tests and lab results.

As he read through the information, one detail caught his eye. He had enough medical training to understand what it meant – and for the first time ever, he let himself actually consider all the whispers and comments he had heard, but never listened to. He looked down at his sleeping son, and truly studied him. And he knew.

Before he left the hospital the next morning, he made arrangements for another test to be performed.

-O-

Three weeks later, he sat down at the kitchen table, facing his wife.

He carefully placed a piece of paper in front of her, and watched her face crumble with guilt as she read the results of the test he had asked to be done.

Tears filled her eyes, and began to trickle down her cheeks; but this time, he didn't reach out to wipe them away.

Instead, he deliberately, methodically, placed more pieces of paper on the table – legal papers, that began with the words 'Divorce Decree.'

When he was sure she understood what was in front of her, he stood, turned his back on her, and walked angrily out the front door.

—O—

Once upon a time, a boy loved Bella Swan… but he doesn't anymore.

Once upon a time, Bella Swan had a secret… but she doesn't anymore.

Once upon a time, Bella Swan let someone else plan and control her future… but not anymore.

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Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Once

Chapter Two

"Every past used to be a future… once upon a time."

The Past

BPOV

I cried when Mike put the paternity test and the divorce papers on the table in front of me.

They weren't really tears of sadness or guilt, rather tears from the emotional relief I felt that it was finally over. Our marriage had been a sham for years; I knew it and I think subconsciously Mike knew it, too. We barely communicated, had no friends in common, and slept in separate rooms for over three years.

I knew Mike blamed me for what he perceived as the failures in his life-plans. Plans that he had formulated when he was only fourteen years old, and had obstinately adhered to without considering any modifications, through high school and into college; even though we both matured and changed as we grew older. The idea that I might want something else rather what he had planned for me never entered his mind.

I also knew that he probably did love me at one time. I had certainly loved him in that adolescent first-crush, puppy-love way that we all experience in junior high. Most people grow out of that attraction; they recognize it for what it is… infatuation. Mike never did, instead it became an obsession – a fantasy with me in the center of it.

And I had gone along with it. Even when I began to chafe at the restrictions his fantasy bound me in, I accepted his plans, his wants, his dreams. I accepted them because I needed them… desperately.

Although Charlie was never physically abusive, he was emotionally distant and in many instances, verbally abusive. When I took over the household chores at eleven years old, it wasn't because I wanted to do them, or even knew how to do them; but I had been told to make my "lazy" self useful if I wanted a roof over my head. While kids my age spent their time playing baseball, or swimming, or hanging out at the mall with friends, I spent my summer days washing and ironing, learning how to cook without burning myself, and scrubbing toilets. The ever present threat that he might actually kick me out of the house "like my slut of a mother" hung over my head like a threatening cloud. So frightened was I, that it was years before I realized it was an empty threat and one that would have severely impacted his job and his standing in our small community.

So, I needed Mike and his family and his plans. They represented security, safety, love and most of all the acceptance I so desperately craved.

They were good people.

Upstanding citizens who took part in the community, attended church, were active in school and charity causes, they represented everything I thought I wanted in my future.

They were the Cleavers; the perfect family with the well-kept cottage home, the white picket fence, and the rose garden. It wasn't just show either, they were genuinely decent people. But more importantly, they loved me – for me – of that I had no doubt, and I loved them in return. Karen Newton was one of the most loving, caring women I had ever known. She was the mother I never had, the nurturing, supporting female influence I needed in my life. The pain this divorce and the truth about Riley would cause them, was one of the reasons I had kept my secret for so long.

I didn't set out to deceive Mike or his parents about Riley's parentage. When I first realized I was pregnant, I was sure it was Mike's child. I debated telling him about the possibility that I was pregnant by someone else, but I couldn't see any benefit in confessing my indiscretion. If the child were Mike's, then knowing I had been unfaithful would have caused hurt and pain to people I loved and cared about. Living with the secret I carried and the guilt because of it, would be the punishment I thought I deserved.

I told myself if it became apparent that Mike was not the father of my baby, then I would tell him the truth; but the birth had been so traumatic. Riley needed care – lots of it, and I could barely take care of myself. I clung to the lifeline Mike and his family provided, knowing that I would receive only disdain and a door slammed in my face, if I sought help from my father. The old fear of being homeless reared its ugly head, and with a sick infant it was a threat I just could not risk.

By the time Riley and I finally recovered our health, it was too late. Mike and his family loved Riley, and Riley loved them. I hoped it would be enough.

It was because of that love that I hesitated to discuss ending our marriage with Mike. I had already consulted a lawyer, trying to get enough information to help me make some kind of decision. I assumed we would sit down together and discuss our problems like adults. Perhaps we could come to a mutually acceptable solution. That option flew out the door when Mike laid those papers in front of me. He didn't ask how I felt, or what I wanted, or even what had happened so many years ago. For all he knew, I could have been raped. None of that mattered to him.

—O—

My tears dried quickly as I scanned over the divorce papers. The more I read, the angrier I became. He had listed the grounds as 'adultery.' The fact that we weren't married or even engaged when I became pregnant didn't seem to make a difference. I had to wonder what he told his lawyer.

He did not ask for visitation rights with Riley. In fact, he expressly denied any financial or custodial obligations for the boy he had raised. Other than that, the rest of the settlement was fairly straight forward. We didn't have many assets. Our furniture was old, mostly hand-me-downs from his parents and grandparents. Both cars were well-used and not worth much. Despite both of us having decent paying jobs, we still lived in a rented apartment. Mike had always refused to consider buying a house, and I had never pushed him. We did have a substantial savings account that I kept a close watch on and knew I was entitled to half.

The divorce went quickly. After the grounds were changed to "irretrievable breakdown" I agreed to everything else that he specified. Riley wasn't his biological son and he didn't want him. Ten years of caring, of nurturing, of father and son bonding with a young boy who loved him, meant nothing to Mike. When he turned his back and walked out the front door, he killed any feelings of respect or gratitude I might have had for him.

I packed our clothes, our personal belongings, took half the money and my son, and left town.

I was ready to make my own decisions and plans.

I was ready to be happy.

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AN: Thank you for reading. I've enjoyed your reviews and I thank you for sharing your thoughts. As many of you guessed (De Perry and Pam Jacob!) Mike Newton was the "good boy" not Edward. Although, as much as we all love him, Edward was a "bit" controlling and obsessive and ignored Bella's wishes more than once, so he could have fit this part very nicely. But, you know, I just couldn't do that to our favorite couple! lol Besides, this let me have my own little 'secret.' Please excuse any mistakes, they are all mine.


	3. Chapter 3

Once

Chapter Three

"Every past used to be a future… once upon a time."

The Future

Five Years Later

BPOV

"Bella, the reporter from the Seattle Times is here to see you."

Mrs. Campbell, our school receptionist, popped her head into my office letting me know my visitor had arrived. "He's a handsome one," she whispered, laughing when I rolled my eyes at her. She had been trying to set me up on dates since I started working here five years ago. Over time, it became a continuing joke between the two of us. Most of the time her over-enthusiastic evaluations of my fellow male teachers or the men who came into the school office for one reason or another, did not match my assessment.

It wasn't that I didn't date, or didn't enjoy the occasional male companionship. I did; but I was picky, and very careful. With a fifteen-year-old son who towered over me by almost a foot and outweighed me by nearly fifty pounds, I seldom met anyone who found my company worth the discomfort of facing Riley's glowering scrutiny more than once when they arrived at our home to take me on a date. His over-protectiveness was endearing, but sometimes frustrating, and it led to many serious discussions between mother and son.

I was proud of Riley. Moving had been difficult and confusing for him. He had gone from the security of a familiar small town where he was surrounded by friends, two parents and grandparents, to living in a strange city with only his mother. He couldn't understand why his father and his grandparents were no longer interested or involved in his life. Although Karen had tried to stay in touch, calling him once a week and sending presents for birthdays and holidays, she never asked to see or visit him. Gradually, over the years, her calls become fewer and fewer until they were only on birthdays and Christmas.

Dealing with their rejection, his new surroundings, and the physical problems from his accident had left my son sullen and angry. He lashed out at me, blaming me for ruining his life and making his father leave. I tried to help him the best I could, answering his questions and giving him information I thought was appropriate for his age, but I knew we needed outside help. I found a family counseling center and we both began seeing a therapist.

It helped that I had a job waiting when we arrived in Seattle.

A year after Riley's birth, I returned to school, graduating a year later with a degree and a teaching certificate in secondary English and literature. I found a position in a nearby school district and began teaching that fall.

I loved my job. I found working with teenagers to be very rewarding, frustrating at times, yes, but always fulfilling. Interestingly enough, they seemed to like me, too. Maybe it was because I wasn't that much older than they were, or maybe because along with the classics, we read popular teen novels and mixed poetry with current music. Everything we studied and discussed was filtered through the pop culture of their lives.

We used social media, and examined its benefits and drawbacks. If Katniss and Juliet were friends on Facebook, what would their conversations sound like, what groups would they belong to, and what would they share? We compared Stephanie Meyer's vampires to Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ and Annette Curtis Klause's _The Silver Kiss._ Reading Le Guin's _Left Hand of Darkness,_ led to debates about LGBTQ issues. My students seemed to enjoy my classes, and so did I.

My classroom door was always open, and gradually, more and more of my students began dropping by to just chat or talk about their problems, or things that were bothering them. It soon became clear to me that they just needed someone to listen. Our school counselor was an over-worked, middle-aged man who spent the majority of his time completing paperwork for the state mandated testing programs, arranging class schedules and graduation requirements. He simply did not have time to spend with students who needed help with their personal problems.

Afraid that I would give the wrong advice or do the wrong thing, I began taking post-graduate classes in psychology and counseling. Those classes helped me realize just how much my life had been controlled and my choices limited, by the men in my life. Neither my father, nor Mike, nor Riley's father had truly cared for me. I was someone they could control and manipulate. Just because my cage was comfortable and safe, didn't make it any less confining.

I had just finished my course work for my Master's degree when Mike presented me with his divorce papers. Knowing the gossip was already rampant in our small hometown and would probably spread to the school district where I worked, I applied for a school counselor position at a newly opened high school in a Seattle suburb. With my graduate degree in hand, a good-paying position waiting for me, and the little boy I loved more than life itself, I left my past behind and never looked back.

—O—

"Thank you, Mrs. Campbell. Please send him in." I glanced quickly around my office, making sure everything that might contain any personal information about our students was filed safely away. As the lead guidance counselor, I took the privacy of my students very seriously.

The top of my desk was clean, neat, and held only my computer and a copy of my book, which was the subject of the upcoming interview with the reporter Mrs. Campbell had called handsome.

—O—

It was my therapist who suggested I start writing my thoughts and feelings in a journal. It was difficult at first; too many mixed emotions, too many regrets, too many self recriminations, and too much anger. I was surprised by that anger. When I finally released the tight control I kept on my subconscious, the anger came pouring out. My journal was filled with page after page of enraged, furious words scrawled in hard lines and vicious strokes.

I was my first target.

I hated my weakness, my vulnerability, my naiveté. I should have been smarter, stronger, bolder. I should have recognized what was happening to me; I should have reached out for help. I should have, should have, should have… the list was endless. My education and training had taught me that what-ifs were useless. It was easier to advise someone else to let go of the past, but much harder to apply that advice to your own life. Releasing those last bits of self-blame was difficult and accomplished only with the help of my therapist.

My father and my ex were the next targets of my ire, and then I turned it on Riley's father, Paul Lahote.

When Riley was almost two, I decided to try to find Paul. I knew he had ties to the local Quileute and Makah tribes, but I knew nothing else about him. He wasn't hard to find. Six months after he left, he was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct during a bar fight in which a man was accidentally killed. When the police searched his motorcycle, they found an unregistered gun and a large enough quantity of marijuana to charge him with intent to sell. He was still serving a four year sentence. The fight did not bother me, neither did the gun or the marijuana, what did bother me was the fact that he was ten years older than me.

It was true that I was twenty when we started our short affair, certainly not an underaged teenager, but I was an inexperienced, naive young woman who still lived at home with her father. He was a thirty-year-old man, experienced and street wise. Like a predator who sensed an easy target, he had relentlessly pursued me and then taken advantage of my ignorance. I had to learn to quit blaming myself for everything that happened between us. Two people were involved and they were both to blame.

I saw Paul one more time when Riley was eight. We were in the local grocery store when I rounded a corner and bumped into another shopping cart. When I looked up to apologize to the other shopper, I realized with a start that it was Paul. He had changed a lot. His hair was short and professionally styled. A long-sleeved knit henley covered his inked arms and he had traded the ripped jeans and heavy boots for a pair of chinos and sneakers. Neither of us moved as we stared at each other in shock. Our moment was interrupted when Riley appeared beside me with two boxes of the cereal he had been searching for. Paul's eyes flickered between us and then widened in surprise as he studied Riley. I watched as realization and then panic spread across his face.

Before either of us could say anything, a young woman stepped up beside him. "I found the diapers, sweetheart. Can you think of anything else we might need?" she asked, dropping the large package into Paul's shopping cart. "Oh, hello," she continued, when she saw me standing there.

Her words startled us, and we both began apologizing at the same time, as we tried to maneuver our carts apart. I took a moment to study her before turning down the next aisle. She was very beautiful, tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed. She wore an infant carrier on her chest and I could see the top of a baby's head nestled against her body. Clearly, Paul had turned his life around. I silently wished him good luck as I walked away.

—O—

I can hear footsteps in the hallway outside my office door. Opening a desk drawer, I pull out another copy of my book and a pen to sign it with. I'm sure the reporter has already read it, but I always give a copy to the press, urging them to pass it along to the girls or women in their lives. I also take a moment to check my hair and makeup in a small mirror I keep there. My office door squeaks as it opens.

—O—

My journal morphed into an online blog. To protect my privacy, I wrote it as a fairy tale. The entries followed the journey of a lonely girl, longing for a Prince Charming to rescue her and take care of her; to a young princess-wife and mother, caught in the suffocating confines of an arranged marriage and society's expectations; and finally, to a grown woman, queen of her own life, responsible for her own decisions and happiness.

Each entry was followed by an interactive discussion. Readers were encouraged to give advice to the main character and comment on the other people in the story. Many times the conversations became heated, conflicting viewpoints clashing in free-for-all arguments that sometimes led to heart-breaking revelations and eye-opening dialogue. As the moderator and therapist, I sometimes intervened and pointed out issues I thought the readers had overlooked. Over and over, I reiterated the importance of consulting with a professional.

My readership grew. Almost overnight it seemed as if hundreds and then thousands of people were following and actively participating in my blog. People started mentioning it on their social media accounts, other bloggers discussed it on their sites. Suddenly there were articles in the press, and a few mentions on talk radio programs. So many readers, both men and women began sharing their stories, that I opened a link just for people to post their own narratives.

Then one day I received a phone call from a book editor. The result of our collaboration was the best-seller that sat on my desk. With the permission of each individual, we collected their anonymous accounts into a volume of tales that explored the lives of women everywhere. There were stories of abuse; verbal, physical, and sexual. There were stories that discussed the effects of neglect and indifference. Stories that explored the exact opposite, from the stifling effects of over-controlling parents, boyfriends and husbands. Stories of low expectations, of low self-esteem, of low possibilities. Their memoirs were filled with tragedy, determination, and ultimately hope as they struggled to change their narratives to one of fulfillment, happiness and success.

My story was there, too, tucked anonymously inside along with the others. I left nothing out. All the details, the good, the bad, the mistakes, the self-loathing, they were laid bare in the hope that girls and women, boys and men would learn from the mistakes Mike and I made.

Because we had fashioned each story into the form of a cautionary fairy tale, because we were encouraging the reader to move away from the storybook fantasies of the stereotypical Prince Charming, the controlling Alpha Billionaire or the romantic reformed Bad Boy, and because happy endings are still waiting for all of us, we picked _Once_ as the title of the book. The first sentence, on the first page read _"Once upon a time…. "_

Within weeks of its publication, _Once_ became a New York Times best seller. Perhaps it was its universal message, perhaps it was the rise of the "Me Too" movement, or perhaps the expanded national awareness of women's rights and issues. Whatever the cause, it found a receptive audience of women _and_ men who were searching for direction and advice to help navigate the changing dynamics between male and female.

There were requests for interviews, television appearances, radio talk shows. A book tour was planned and speaking engagements scheduled. Some I did, some I didn't. My son and my students were still my top priorities, and when possible I tried to fill the publicity requests without leaving Seattle. Which is why I had agreed to the interview with the reporter from the Times who is currently entering my office.

Rising from my chair, I step around the edge of my desk, extending my hand in welcome to the man who is standing just inside the door. When I tilt my head up to greet him, I'm caught in the gaze of one of the most handsome men I have ever met. Mrs. Campbell's words about his appearance repeat in my muddled brain and all I can think is that she and I are finally in total agreement.

He takes my offered hand, but instead of shaking it, he holds it gently in his as he studies my face intently. I feel almost a sense of recognition, as if I've met him somewhere or sometime before. He must feel something too, because his grip tightens as he takes one step closer to me. For one fleeting moment, I'm almost persuaded to believe in Prince Charmings, in soul-mates, in karma, in happily-ever-afters.

"Hello," he begins, before swallowing nervously and clearing his throat. He glances down at our joined hands, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he raises his gaze to mine.

"Hello, I'm Edward Cullen."

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AN: Okay, I know you saw that coming! LOL Thank you, dear readers, for the wonderful reviews and for the enthusiasm you've shown for this little story. I have been completely blown away by your kind words. Please excuse any mistakes. They are all mine.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for reading. All mistakes are mine.

Once

Chapter 4

"Every past used to be a future… once upon a time."

The Happily Ever After

BPOV

Edward and I began dating, cautiously at first. We both had unhappy marriages in our pasts, and a child who took first priority in our lives. Neither of us were looking for casual or fleeting hookups, so we took things slowly, learning to trust each other before we let our relationship move forward.

The first time we met for a get-acquainted coffee, he explained that he had sole custody of his ten year old daughter, born during a short and unhappy marriage with his college sweetheart. Her name was Elizabeth. She was very shy around strangers and had some developmental problems. He didn't elaborate further, and I didn't ask. I also learned that he was thirty-two, three years younger than me, had grown up and attended school in Chicago, and loved his job as a reporter. He was very close to his parents, both doctors, who moved to Seattle when he did, and his maternal grandparents, who still lived in Chicago.

Edward managed to pass the glowering Riley test.

A month after we began dating, he invited us to attend a Seattle Seahawk's game with him. He had four tickets, he explained, and asked Riley if he would like to bring a friend. His invitation earned my son's grudging acceptance. Two weeks later he took Riley with him to another game. This time they sat in the press box with other reporters and bonded over first down averages, pass completions, and game strategies. Riley quickly became Edward's biggest fan.

We were three months into our relationship when he finally opened up about his past and his daughter. Riley was spending the night with friends, and I had invited Edward over for dinner. As we worked together in the kitchen, I could tell he was nervous and something was clearly bothering him. After receiving only mumbled replies to my attempts at conversation, I finally turned the stove off, set the food aside, and led him to the couch.

"Talk, Edward," I demanded, pushing him to sit, before plopping myself next to him. "Whatever it is, just spit it out. Are you having second thoughts about dating me?"

"What? No, no, never; in fact, it's just the opposite." Edward shifted around so he could face me before taking my hands in his. "I have very strong feelings for you and I want to take this relationship to the next step. I… I want more with you, Bella; but this isn't about just me and what I want. It's about Elizabeth too."

I still couldn't understand why Edward was so nervous. He had spoken about Elizabeth several times. I knew she attended a private school and they had a full-time nanny. At times I wondered why he had not been more forthcoming about her problems; but I also knew he was a very private person. Just as he had his secrets, I, too, had mine. I had never really told him much about my past either. If we both wanted this relationship to move forward, we were going to have to be more open with each other.

Before I could respond to Edward's words, he picked up his phone that was lying on the coffee table in front of us. I watched as he unlocked it, opening a link to what was obviously an album of photographs. Scooting closer, he handed me the phone and told me about each one as I scrolled through them.

They were in chronological order, the first one a picture of a very young-looking Edward in a cap and gown standing between two older couples.

"High school graduation," he explained, "with my parents and grandparents, Carlisle and Esme Cullen and my Grandfather and Grandmother Platt."

"You're… " I couldn't stop the grin that split my face as I examined the image before me.

"Tall, skinny, uncoordinated, and a total geek," he laughed, interrupting me.

"Well, I was going to say adorable."

"No, no I wasn't," he laughed again, shaking his head at me. "I was terrible at sports, shy and awkward around girls. I liked reading, liked words. I even wrote a little poetry – in secret, of course – thinking I would turn them into songs and be a famous someday. Or at least maybe impress a few girls."

The next couple of photos are of Edward in college, one in front of the iconic Cobb Gate at the University of Chicago, and another with a group of friends at some outdoor college social. The next swipe reveals an image of a smiling Edward with his arm draped around a young blonde woman standing next to him.

"Jane," he answered to my unspoken question. "We met at the end of our sophomore year. I was instantly smitten, especially when I finally got up the nerve to ask her out and she accepted. She was my first real girlfriend, my first real everything, in fact. I took her home to meet my parents that summer and a year later we were engaged. We married in June right after we graduated."

"She's beautiful," I whispered, already a bit intimidated by her perfect blonde perfection.

"I guess," he said, a harsh undertone to his words, "but it's hard for me to look at her now, knowing how things would change just a few years later."

The next picture is of their wedding. I don't look at the bride, focusing instead on a tuxedo clad Edward. It's clear he's beginning to mature into the handsome man he is today.

Elizabeth makes her appearance in the next photo. A smiling Edward holds a pink-wrapped, sleeping infant in his arms. His joy fills the screen. There is one more photo with Jane. Her face is turned away, a frown marring her features as she sits beside Edward who is holding a slightly older Elizabeth in his lap.

The next few photos are all of Elizabeth. Edward has added a caption and date to each. He's documented his daughter's life in six month increments. I watch as she becomes a miniature version of her mother. Delicate features, curly pale blonde hair, upward slanting, startling blue eyes that never look at the camera, full pink lips that never smile.

"Down syndrome," I whispered.

"Yes," Edward answered, confirming what the camera had revealed. "A fairly severe case. She was extremely weak and had difficulty learning to walk. Her immune system is compromised and we have to watch her very carefully."

"Jane was mortified, embarrassed that she had given birth to a child that was, in her opinion, "less than perfect." She rejected Elizabeth from the start, wouldn't hold her, wouldn't care for her, absolutely refused to breast-feed her."

"From the beginning my parents were, and still are, very involved in her welfare. As soon as she was born, they insisted on scheduling a multitude of medical tests to evaluate her condition and plan her care. Elizabeth was still in the neonatal intensive care unit when we started the genetic testing and Jane left. I came home from the hospital one day to find her gone. She had packed all her belongings, emptied our bank accounts, maxed out our credit cards and just left. On the kitchen table was a legal document relinquishing all her parental rights."

Even after ten years, the anger was still evident in Edward's voice. I watched quietly as he took several deep breaths, a muscle twitching in his tightly clenched jaw. When he had calmed himself a bit, he continued.

"I don't know how much you know about the medical causes of Down Syndrome?" he asked, glancing at me.

Although my education includes some knowledge of the syndrome, I'm not an expert. When I shake my head no, he explains. "It's caused by a full or partial extra copy of chromosome 21. In very rare cases, called translocation, that extra copy is passed on to the child from one of the parents who is a carrier of the translocated chromosome. Genetic testing can identify which parent and that knowledge can be used to take precautions in the future if the parents want more children. My parents were adamant that we have those tests done to find the carrier."

When Edward paused in his explanation, I had to wonder if he is thinking how best to share bad news with me.

"So, do you carry the extra chromosome, Edward?"

"No," he finally answered, "and neither does Jane."

It took a moment for me to understand the meaning of his words. "But that would mean that… "

"I'm not Elizabeth's biological father."

"What? I mean… but you were married. Are you saying Jane cheated on you, or did something else happen?"

"Oh, she cheated all right," he answered bitterly, "seems she was having an affair with her high school boyfriend the whole time I knew her."

I studied this beautiful, educated, charming man in front of me, wondering why anyone would go to such lengths to deceive him; extended dating, an engagement, a wedding, it all seemed ridiculous. "Why?" Was all I could manage to whisper.

It took Edward a moment to answer. He clenched his hands and then ran them roughly through his hair. Finally with a sigh, he answered, "Money."

One word that says so much, can mean so much. I had so many questions, but I waited for him to explain.

Edward leaned his head against the back of the couch, stretched his long legs in front of him, a heavy resigned sigh leaving his chest. He turned to look at me, studying my face intently when he finally spoke.

"I've told you both of my parents are doctors." When I nodded he continued. "So just that fact alone would make them fairly well-to-do; but my mother is a Platt. She's the only child of one of the oldest and richest families in Chicago, and I'm her only child, the only grandchild. I'm rich, Bella, not just well-off, but rich – disgustingly… filthy… rich."

"Jane was smart; I have to give her that. She played me so well, our whole three year relationship was an expertly planned fraud. Even with the prenup that my grandparents insisted upon, she would have been a wealthy woman when she eventually divorced me. The longer our marriage lasted, the bigger her settlement would be; there were even provisions for extra funds for each child born during our marriage. Infidelity was the only clause that cut her off completely."

"So when you started the genetic testing?"

"Yes," he nodded to my question. "She knew it was only a matter of time before the truth was revealed. There wasn't an overly large amount of cash in our bank accounts, but there was still plenty. She managed to put together a nice tidy sum before she left town."

Edward's story explained so much about his behavior: his cautious approach to our dating; his reluctance to share too much information about his family and personal life; his over protectiveness with Elizabeth. As I mulled over what he has just revealed to me, I couldn't help but compare him to Mike. "You're raising someone else's child." I whispered to myself.

"No!" I heard him exclaim beside me.

Startled, I turned towards him.

"No, Bella, no! Elizabeth _is_ my child! I loved her before she was born. I loved her when they first placed her in my arms in the hospital. I loved her when she was diagnosed, and I love her everyday that she is in my life. She may not be the child of my body; but she _is_ the child of my heart."

Mortified by what I had just said out loud, I began stammering an apology as I stared at the man sitting beside me. The contrast between Edward and Mike was like day and night. They could not have been more different. This unconditional love for a child, any child, was what fatherhood really meant.

Rising from the sofa, I walked over to the bookshelf, picking up a copy of my book that was resting there. "I'm sorry for what I just said," I apologized as I handed him the copy. "Perhaps this will help explain my reaction. My story is in there, page seventy."

I watched as Edward read, frowning from time to time, emotions flickering across his face. He closed the book, set it down, then turned to me. I dreaded what he would say. Would he compare me to his ex-wife, a cheating partner who betrayed his trust? Would he decide to end our fledging relationship, finding me unworthy to meet his daughter and family?

"Your ex is an asshole."

So unexpected were his words, that I couldn't help the loud guffaw that escaped my lips or the silly giggle that followed. "That's not exactly what I thought you would say."

"You thought I would blame you, didn't you?" His voice was soft, kind, understanding when I nodded my head in agreement.

"Bella, you were young, inexperienced and controlled by your asshole of an ex and your asshole of a father. Nothing that you did compares to what Jane did. We all make mistakes or do things we later regret; but what I don't understand is how Mike could abandon Riley without a moment's hesitation. How could he just dismiss ten years of a relationship with a small child who loved him? All over the world parents are loving and caring for step-children, adopted children, foster children, abandoned children. It doesn't matter if they are our biological children or not. They are all worthy of love and care. So I'll say it again, your ex is an asshole!"

And then Edward leaned over and kissed me… really kissed me. Kissed me as if his life and mine depended upon the meeting of our lips at just that moment. Kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world to him.

We smiled at each other when we drew apart. Happy smiles full of joy and acceptance, devotion and expectations, and that's when I knew I was falling in love with Edward Cullen. Taking him by the hand, I led him to my bedroom.

—O—

Two days later Edward took me to his home to meet his daughter.

Six months later I became Mrs. Edward Cullen.

Two months later we celebrated again when adoption papers made Elizabeth my legal daughter and Riley happily gave up the last name he had grown to resent and became Riley Cullen. We were a family, united by name; but more importantly by love.

—O—

Riley had known who his biological father was for a couple of years. He was thirteen when he approached me and asked for the truth. I told him everything, answering his questions as completely as I could. His resentment towards Mike only intensified after he learned the events surrounding our divorce. We even discussed legally changing our last names. He hated being a Newton; I didn't want to be a Swan or a Newton. Becoming a Cullen made us both very happy.

He was seventeen when he decided to contact Paul. For the first few months they corresponded by text until Paul asked if he could meet him. A few months later, they finally met. Paul and Rachel had several children by then, and they all welcomed him into their family. Riley became the big brother to two half-sisters and two half-brothers. They celebrated with us when Riley signed a letter of intent to play football at the University of Washington and again four years later when he was drafted by the Seattle Seahawks. His extended family made a very loud and very noisy cheering section at every home game.

It was after one home game that he was approached by the man he had once called Dad. Mike Newton had recognized Riley from an appearance on a Seattle sports show and decided to seek him out. The intervening years had not been kind to Mike, he had aged badly. Balding and pot-bellied, he barely resembled the handsome young man Riley remembered. He did have the decency to tell Riley he was sorry for how he had treated him. Riley accepted his apology, but warned Mike he was not welcomed anywhere near his real family and to leave him alone. We never saw him again.

—O—

I was privileged to be Elizabeth's mother for fifteen years. It took her awhile to overcome her shyness with me. Hiding behind that timid exterior was the sweetest, most loving, and happiest person I had ever known. Even when she was not well, she graced us with her smile and her laughter. The first time she called me "Mommy" is a memory I cherished for the rest of my life.

She loved Riley immediately. She adored him, and he treated her like the special person she was. The bond between them was stronger than any legal paper could create.

Her health began to deteriorate in her early twenties. Despite the best care that the medical profession could provide, she passed away at twenty-five, surrounded by a mother, father, brother and grandparents who loved and appreciated her.

—O—

Edward and I had more children, over a hundred of them in fact. With more than enough financial resources at our disposal, we became foster parents to infants, small children and teenagers who needed a safe shelter at a critical time in their lives. Some only stayed for a short time, just long enough for their parents to solve whatever problems had caused their separation. Some stayed much longer, until extended family could be found or until adoptions were finalized. And some stayed forever. They found their place in our home and our lives and became a permanent part of our family. Short term or long term… they were all children of our hearts.

—O—

My story began as all good fairy tales do, with "once upon a time."

It contained all the elements of the classic fairy tale: the missing mother who for some reason leaves her child to fend for herself; the cruel parent/step-parent who mistreats the innocent young girl; a bad or evil wolf/ogre/witch who seeks to harm the young woman; and the handsome, daring Prince who rescues the threatened maiden just in the nick of time. Somewhere along the telling of my story, real life interfered and the fairy tale morphed into reality. A reality that contained both sadness and happiness.

Edward, although an absolutely wonderful man, was no Prince Charming, and I was certainly no Cinderella or fairy tale Princess. We were human, with all our faults, and foibles, and failings. Sometimes we disagreed, sometimes we argued; but always we loved, and we were happy.

Although we may not have lived ' _ever after'_ we certainly lived _'happily.'_

Perhaps, in the end, we did have our own special fairy tale after all.

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AN: Thank you!


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